the many misadventures of tress and grifter [exp]

03 | gimme five seconds

✦ ─ ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ ─ ✦

"TRESSSSSSSSSSSS!" He called. "Where are ya, sugar."

"Gimme five seconds!"

"Those were five seconds!"

"Give me five more!"

I couldn't hear more shouting which means I got through him. Good.

Mum's out. On her daily hunt. You see, mum is a woman driven by natural juices. I mean forces. She belongs out there. Sometimes she stays out all night, and I sleep inside her room pretending she's next to me — working on her next project.

Tonight is turkey night.

Mom likes to hunt for that. She said and I quote "it gives the meat extra flavour when you strangle it yourself" — she's bold like that.

"Tress!" He barked.

"In here! Detangling my stupid knots!"

I'm just two hundred flight of stairs away for crying out loud.

I hurriedly brush my hair, slathering a generous amount of conditioner to my ends and reasoning with my tresses, while simultaneously grabbing a vase so I can drop it on Griff's thick head. In case he got more impatient.

I clipped them all back. Into one large braid. Dozens of bobby pins holding down my yellow willows.. "Tress?!"

Hey Grifter? Wattpad called. They said they wanna audition you for mom roles.

I am perfection. I am perfection. Nobody's better. I am Cameron Diaz's hotter twin.

I think these are enough. Three affirmations and no more.

As I raced down, fixing my mascara and smacking lips for touch-up — I am met with the most unexpected scene..

Mum and Griff.. Talking..

That's as likely as a seal's interaction with a shark.

His face ain't visible but his back is, as he leaned against the doors in a striking manner. Even from here, I can tell he's bathed in sunlight, fairy oils and the skin on his bones is polished to a fault. Ambers and cologne.

"Hi, Morgaine — ma'am — Madame, madame Morgaine, how are ya?"

High collar shirts, rolled up sleeves, midnight black boots don't please my mum much. It irks her. She thinks all good looking men are conniving bitches, and that I can tell without having to directly read her face.

"And you are?" Ice, totally.

"I am Grifter, do you shake hands?"

I didn't know he was capable of shaking hands. First time we met he spoke how it's customary to offer lingering hugs and shoulder scratches.

Maybe age groups matter? Probably it.

"Grifter," he said lightly.

"Morgaine," mom answered intensely.

"Your name suits you quite nicely."

Huh? Morgaine compliments people? What a strange thought.

And yet, here as I stand astounded in my shadows —  I am befuddled by mom's amiablility as well my boyfriend's courtesy.

"Thanks I guess."

"You're welcome."

Fucking hell.

Then, silence prevails. I think they're done. I should make my presence known —

"Did you know my father was this close to stealing the crown? And then they beheaded him, a brutal punishment. If it were me, I'd opt him for capital punishment. A lifetime of jailwork. My mother had to commit suicide. She didn't really. She just faked it. Much later, they left me here, in charge, and ran off to Paris," he finished (hopefully).

"I get the romantic genes from them haha."

Poor timing, inner child, very much so.

✦ ─ ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ ─ ✦